


In the Closet

by shewearsglasses



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Closets, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Insecurity, M/M, Requited Love, Sloppy Makeouts, SpideyPoolWeek, Trapped In A Closet, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewearsglasses/pseuds/shewearsglasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter accidentally pulls Wade into a closet. It's a mistake. Obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Closet

“Listen,” said Peter, tilting his head to stretch out his neck. As it was, the shelf behind him was digging into his neck and he couldn’t exactly move with Wade like right there. “If you grope my ass one more time, I’m not buying tacos tonight.”

“Whoa, Petey,” and Peter still couldn’t believe the merc had found out his name, “Harsh blow, but,” Wade leaned forward and his large hands reached around to pull Peter’s ass into his palms. Peter let out an embarrassingly-pitched squeak, immediately putting his hands up to create some semblance of space between their chests. “But,” Wade continued, “That’s a cross I’m willing to bear.”

“You’re not using that saying correctly,” Peter said, his cheeks were heating up the closer Wade got to him. How did this even happen? How exactly had he ended up chest-to-chest with the murderous mercenary with guns for hands in a closet?

Oh yeah.

He’d been talking to Gwen on the phone. In an alley! Where no one could see him, like at the top of the fire escape, so no, it wasn’t an obvious out-in-the-open superhero snarking to his roommate about what kind of detergent they should buy. She’d been making a play for tide, but he wasn’t trying to spend more than necessary and so he was vying for the cheaper brand—whatever that random purple one was called. Gwen would know.

“The Tide stuff makes your boxers softer, Peter,” Gwen said matter-of-factly, and if Peter were not hanging upside down at that precise moment, he’d have rolled his eyes—but as it was, all the blood was rushing to his head and—wow he should really think about coming back down. Peter twisted around and righted himself before calling her his, ‘mom,’ in an affectionate tone. Gwen scoffed, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m buying the tide, cause you don’t do the laundry anyway.”

Peter shifted his balance to his good foot, then feeling the hint of a pebble, switched back. He put the phone on speaker and reached around to pull off his shoe. He didn’t see the harm in the action until a moment later when Gwen said, “Listen Peter—” just as his least favorite mercenary—and let’s be real, he had no order of mercenary’s (unless you counted Natasha, cause she was technically an assassin, either way, she was easily his favorite, especially when she defended him against Clint’s torment during meetings. Last week she’d even said, “Spider’s gotta stick together, yeah?” as they were heading out and it was just about the cutest thing he’d ever heard come out of the most intimidating woman he’d ever met) but if he were to have a list, Deadpool would be at the farthest, grossest, corner at the bottom of the page—anyway, Deadpool showed up—wow, his train of thought really got derailed there.

“Peter?” He said, and every bone in Peter’s body locked down and froze in place. That could not be the voice he thought it was. No way, no how. It was just Johnny or Gwen doing a really good imitation or or or—he turned slowly. Fuck.

“I’mgonnahavetocallyouback—” he spat into the phone, then hung up on Gwen. He’d be paying for that later. But as it was, he had to pay for this now. “Hey, Deadpool,” he said, drawing out the ‘ey’ like a middle school-er with a crush. It worked for his image too, as his cheeks brightened to roughly the color of a lobster, and he kicked his feet around without looking up. “What’s up?”

Real casual-like, Peter. Real smooth. SHIELD would be so proud.

Deadpool was sporting a full-on grin at this point, “Your name is Peter? Like Peter Peter? Like Petey-weaty-boe-beaty-Peter?”

“If I say ‘no,’ will you leave me alone?”

Deadpool’s grin rose an inch—making Peter raise an eyebrow. Honestly, how the hell did the crazed merc make those vivid expressions without any actual facial features on display? Then the merc tilted his head back and let out a loud laugh. Peter grimaced, this was bad. Like real bad. Like alien attack on New York City with nothing but his web-slingers to back him up bad.

He could do one of two things—either web off and deny everything, or—he stepped forward and grabbed Deadpool’s wrist, tugging the merc up, then he ducked into the empty apartment to their left and flattened Deadpool to the wall. “Listen,” he said, forcing Deadpool’s face further into the wall. He leaned into the merc’s ear, “You’re not going to breathe a whisper of this to anyone. You hear that , asshole? Anyone! Not a single soul. Else I come after you and cut you up into a million itty bitty pieces and—”

“Wade.”

Peter pulled back, staring at the back of Deadpool’s head, “What?”

Deadpool shifted so he could turn his face to half-meet Peter’s gaze, “My name. It’s Wade.”

Peter blanched. What the hell! Here, he was, doing his best Natasha impression—cause she was obviously the best at this sort of ordeal—trying to be intimidating and dangerous and all that jazz, and Deadpool just fucking introduced himself? Like that? What? He must’ve repeated the word aloud, because Deadpool continued, “Wade Wilson if you wanna look me up, but if you’re looking for my number, I can just give it to you now. You got a paper? Nah, you probably have a super-duper-genius mind cause you’re a spider, and that just makes sense, ya dig? Anyway, it’s—”

“Shut up,” Peter said. And Deadpool twisted a bit so he could pull a hand up and mime zipping his lips. “I need to think,” he let Deadpool—wait, no. Wade?—drop against the wall, and Peter backed up so he was pressed slightly against a couch. 

That was when he realized that they were in someone’s apartment. They were breaking and entering. He straightened and said, “We have to leave now. This is someone’s home!” And that was when his spidey-senses kicked into gear—cause he was the king of coincidence now apparently—and he spun to hear the tumbler in the door move. His eyes widened underneath the mask and he all but shoved Wade into the nearest closet he could find.

And that’s exactly how they ended up stuffed against one another in a tiny closet—both praying the owner of the home wouldn’t open the door for any reason. 

Wade opened his mouth again, but Peter shifted to cover it with one of his hands. “Shh,” he said. His face felt too hot under the mask. Wade’s hands were still on his ass, and as uncomfortable as that fact should be—it was kind of a turn-on. He’d always had a weird thing about butts—but Wade didn’t need to know that! He leaned further away, but Wade just managed to crowd him further into the wall.

“Wade,” he hissed through clench teeth, “Stop moving so much.”

His hand was still on the merc’s mouth, so he felt his lips move when he tried to respond. Peter grunted and yanked the arm back, smacking it into the wall behind him in the process. He moaned lowly and he felt Wade go still around him. Finally.

“I could say the same to you,” Wade muttered and Peter was thrown by how deep his voice was when he said it. His voice was deep normally, yes, but this time it was forcibly deep in an almost husky way. Peter shuddered and Wade’s hands moved, pulling back to that they rested on his hips instead. Peter almost felt a loss, but that was crazy, right? He was being sexually harassed!

Peter pressed his shoulders back against the wall fully, and stepped closer to follow the movement. Peter sucked in a breath when he looked up and realized how close they were. It suddenly got very hard to breathe through his mask, so Peter hastily reached up a tugged the aforementioned mask up to his nose. Deadpool’s mask was suddenly the only thing keeping them from sharing the same air. He tried to breathe normally—in and out and in and out and—but it was hard. Really. He hadn’t taken his anxiety meds that day and this was just too much. Peter licked his lips.

It was a mistake.

Before he could even pull his tongue back into his mouth, Wade had crushed his own lips to Peter’s. He blinked—he hadn’t even seen the man pull up his mask but—oh god. He stopped thinking when Wade pushed his tongue into Peter’s mouth. The air got cooler and he couldn’t breathe but suddenly he didn’t need to as much. Wade’s hands were tilting his face and he was…responding. He unattached one hand from the wall and carefully rested it against Wade’s neck, the other dropped down to his hip.

Peter lost himself in the kiss. He stopped caring because hadn’t he seen this coming? If he hadn’t he really should’ve. The heat rose whenever they were together; his anxiety always seemed at an all-time high. It hadn’t been this bad since he was dating Gwen. Not to mention how much less annoying Wade’s flirtations had gotten. They used to get on every single one of his nerves and now he almost found them…endearing.

He shuddered and Wade pulled his hands away to reach for his ass again. Peter grunted into the kiss, and he felt Wade smirk against him just before he hiked Peter up onto his waist. Peter moaned and wrapped himself tighter around the merc. There was shuffling somewhere near and Peter ignored the sound. Then a phone rang and he came back to himself.

He sputtered and tugged his head back, letting his legs fall a bit. Wade’s hands tightened to keep him upright. “Wade,” he said, voice husky. He coughed and tried again, “Wade, stop.” Wade moaned against his neck and moved forward, incidentally rubbing his erection against Peter’s.

Peter choked on air and flailed his arms out, “Wade, please. Please, stop!” He pushed at Wade’s shoulders and this time the merc seemed to understand. He let his hands drop away and Peter’s legs finally touched the floor. He pushed Wade back a step so he could get some air. The larger man shook his head and backed away. Now that Peter could breathe again, he cleared his throat quietly, “We need to get out of here.”

Wade nodded, but didn’t reply. He turned away to look out the door. There was a voice speaking somewhere in the distance—assumedly on the phone. Peter almost regretted breaking the kiss. He knew Wade was probably thinking he’d been rejected. He wanted to reach out to the man, but Wade said, “There’s a clear path to the open window. Let’s go.” He was quieter than Peter had ever seen him as he opened the door and ducked down. Peter followed in his footsteps, listening for the voice in the background the entire time.  
Once through the window, Peter reached behind him to pull it shut, but when he turned back around, Deadpool was gone. He swung up to the roof and scanned the skies. No sign of the red-costumed merc who could kiss like no one he’d ever known before. Peter turned and swung home.

He didn’t see Deadpool for a month after the incident. Peter tried not to feel disappointment, really he did. He didn’t care about the mercenary—he was just a good kisser. A really good kisser. Yeah, that was it. Definitely no emotional involvement or connection. There was no way Peter thought about him all the time, nope. He didn’t think about those firm hands on his hips, his ass. He didn’t think about that tongue between his lips or the way Wade’s chapped lips had felt against his own. He didn’t think about it. At all. Never.  
Least of all at night—that kiss rarely if ever visited his dreams and there was no way it ever kept him up at night—aching and anxious. He didn’t feel guilty for the kind-of rejection. He didn’t feel anything.

Gwen must’ve been having an off-day though because her perception of his feelings was way off. She lived under the delusion that he’d become somehow spacy and less vibrant. “You’re more anxious than ever, Pete. Is something wrong?” She said one day. He’d sputtered out a witty response. Because he was fine. Totally 100% unaffected and fine.

But she was oddly undeterred. She continued to watch him and stress how open she was to talking about his “whatever this is.” But as he’d said, he was fine. So it didn’t matter anyway.

If he was jumpy every time he saw the color red, then he blamed that on his fear of Deadpool, not his infatuation. Why would he even use that word? He wouldn’t. Because he wasn’t—infatuated, that is.

Definitely not.

When he finally saw the merc again. It was on an Avengers mission. Those rarely happened these days—Peter had let them know that he could only work on a few missions every few months because otherwise they took too much time from his life. The Avengers hated Deadpool. Probably because he spent most of his spare time bothering them, plus he wasn’t trustworthy. And they didn’t love Spider-Man either. He was just obnoxious, so usually Cap lumped them together on team missions.

This mission was obviously important when Deadpool was called in (that only happened once in a blue moon). Captain America paired Peter with Deadpool, and Matt—sorry, Daredevil—or as Deadpool had previously dubbed them—Team Red. They worked surprisingly well together despite how obnoxious Peter and Wade were both as individuals and as a team. And despite the fact that more often than not they distorted Matt’s senses.

Deadpool pretended he hadn’t been avoiding Peter—who in turn pretended he hadn’t had his fair share of wet dreams revolving around the taller man over the past month. Matt, on the other hand, pretended to be completely oblivious to the obvious tension that had developed between the two. And when the mission ended, and Matt awkwardly waved his goodbyes before doing a bunch of unnecessary parkour over the roof, Peter was once again alone with Deadpool.

He watched the man from the corner of his eye—expecting him to disappear immediately. When he didn’t, Peter knew he had to say something, “You’ve been avoiding me.” Well that was harsh. He’d wanted to be subtle—ease into it.

Wade shrugged, “Gotta pay the bills somehow, Petey. Sometimes that doesn’t include hanging with you, babe.” He winked, and Peter had to push the urge to smile down—way down.

“I think,” Peter was saying before he could stop himself, “we should talk about the kiss.” Oh god. It was out there. He had said it. Oh god. Immediate regret. He immediately regretted the decision to talk about it. He should’ve just moved to Siberia instead and never spoken of the incident again. Oh god.

Wade was silent for a long moment which further heightened Peter’s anxiety. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh—“What about it?”

No. Nope. Just leave, Peter. Just wake away. Forget you brought it up. Tell him it was a mistake. Just don’t say—“I think we should do it again.” What? That was unexpected. Even Peter didn’t know that that was what his dumbass out-of-control mouth was going to regurgitate up. Again? He’d been in denial for over a month, why in the fuck would he want to do it again?

“What?” Wade was still. And quiet. And Peter didn’t want to repeat himself. He kicked at the edge of the roof, trying purposefully not to fidget with his hands. It was impossible though, so he ended up fisting them at his sides and standing up straighter. “Do it again? Are you serious?” Wade’s voice was so small and insecure and Peter thought to hell with it and he moved instead.

He crossed the roof—which honestly wasn’t long and Deadpool wasn’t really farther than three years but he was dramatic so yeah, he crossed the whole damn thing—and grabbed the edge of Wade’s mask. He hiked it up at the same time as his other hand pulled his own up and he smashed their lips together. That was a literal interpretation of the moment too because their noses hit and he missed the taller man’s lips and it was awkward and they whined and fell apart. Peter groaned and felt his lip—oh great, it was bleeding at little. He grimaced. That made sense. It went about as well as anything he did went. He looked up, expecting Deadpool to be gone again, but he was… laughing? He was actually laughing!

Peter’s mouth dropped open, but then he was laughing too. This was ridiculous. This whole situation. He was ridiculous. He doubled over, clutching desperately at his stomach which almost hurt from the force of his laughter. Deadpool let out a blurt laugh that dwarfed his own in volume.

Finally, their laughter dwindling, Deadpool straightened and faked brushing a tear from his eye. “Good joke, baby boy. I’ll be leaving now.”

Wait, what? Peter grabbed onto Wade’s forearm. “Wait, why?”

Deadpool tugged his mask back into place, “You finished the joke; we laughed. Let’s part ways as amigos.”

“I don’t wanna part as amigos,” Peter said, voice low. He was still new to this whole thing. He hadn’t been in a real relationship since Gwen, and he hadn’t been on a real date in…months probably.

“Friends, then?” Wade tried, pulling far enough away that Peter had to drop his arm. “The amigo thing was just a party trick, really. I don’t know much Spanish. Except ‘Usted tiene un buen culo’ which I learned specifically for you, baby boy.” He tilted his head back in thought, “I hope that Google Translate didn’t steer me wrong.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “It means ‘you have a nice ass.’”

Peter pulled back, “No, Wade. Stop.” Wade closed his mouth, but he barely stopped moving. He was such a ball of energy. “I don’t think I want to be just friends. I want to…kiss you more and stuff.” The last part he mumbled, but Wade’s eyes brightened so he knew he’d been heard.

It was silent between them for a long time. Finally, Wade said, “Why?”

Peter felt his stomach drop. He’d seen the signs of anxiety and insecurity, but Wade had always blocked them out with his obnoxious behavior and aggressive fake-confidence. So, Peter had ignored it. He couldn’t any longer. “Because I like you,” Peter said with a shrug. Well, that was pathetic.

“You’ve said as much, but again: why?” This was the most serious Wade had ever been around it. As annoying as his persistent joking behavior was, Peter liked this even less.

“Because you’re funny,” Peter blurted before he could stop and think. “Because you’re a good kisser, and you laugh at my jokes. And because honestly, I like your aggressive flirting. As annoyed as I always act, I like you.” He kept his hands firm this time. He stayed straight—even if the thoughts in his head were anything but. He remained firm and serious and hoped Wade would accept that answer.

Wade nodded, and there was a slight smile to his lips this time. He opened his mouth to say something but Peter beat him to it, “I haven’t stopped thinking about your lips in over a month. I hadn’t stopped thinking about that kiss and your hands and your heat,” he almost choked on the word, “all around me. I can’t sleep. I think I like you a lot and I need you to respond kind of right now.”

Peter’s anxiety had hit the roof. He was huffing, his chest felt tight. This wasn’t how he had foreseen this conversation going—not that he’d thought about it previously. Definitely not at all.

Wade grinned and leaned closer to him, this time oozing confidence. “I’ve been pretty vocal about my affections, baby boy.” He stepped closer so their chests brushed together. “I like you,” he whispered against the shell of Peter’s ear. His hand reached up and pulled the mask up again. This time as he spoke, Wade pressed a kiss to Peter’s neck, “A lot.”  
Peter’s breath caught in his throat. “Okay,” he said. His voice was small and pathetic to his own ears.

Wade replaced his lips with a hand, straightening to meet Peter’s eyes. Peter felt tiny. Everything felt huge and hot and he almost couldn’t breathe—but then his lips met Wade’s and the world stopped spinning so much. Everything kind of stilled. When Wade pulled away, they were both breathless. “That good for you?”

Peter nodded, dumbstruck, and allowed Wade to grab his hand and tug him along. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s go get some fucking tacos. I’m starving!”

Peter tugged his mask down to cover up his laughter, and he tightened his hand around Wade’s. “You’re paying,” he said. When Wade blanched, he added, “You avoided me for a month cause you had to ‘pay the bills.’ Don’t fucking tell me you don’t have the money!”

Wade made some sassy retort and Peter couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t know where this was going, and he couldn’t say whether it would last long, but it felt good to try it anyway. He liked Wade. He liked this.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written and posted anything in over a year cause I fucking suck. And here I am, back for spideypool week! THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE IT'S OVER! I'm sorry. I'm trash. Forgive me! Hopefully I'll be posting more in the coming months but no promises.
> 
> Also please let me know if there are any errors or anything! I wrote it really quickly this weekend so I could publish something for Spideypool week! It's probably trash.


End file.
